Official Business
by Michelle
Summary: Clint and Natasha infiltrate a business front for HYDRA.


_I sat down_ _to write this morning, fully intending to write a second chapter__ (more like a coda) to my previous fic, _Stumbling Home_. One of the commenters there left a r__eally great idea - that I should do a reaction piece! I totally agreed, so I sat down to write it. _**  
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_Then I wrote this instead. This was supposed to be rougher, but then my clintasha feels broke out, and I ended up writing rough sex with a side of shmoop instead. Oops. Enjoy!  
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Clint hated being on the outside, looking in.

He was very good at it, yes, but there was something about constantly being relegated to lookout that kind of annoyed him. He was sure the people down in psych would say that it's because of his childhood and unresolved issues or some other such nonsense, but Clint didn't care to analyze the emotion, he just knew that he didn't like it.

So when Steve assigned both him and Natasha to infiltrate a business operating as a HYDRA front, he practically jumped for joy.

He hadn't seen Natasha in over a month; she's been out of the country on some need-to-know mission for Fury (she'll tell him all about it anyway), and it has been far too long since they've occupied the same physical space. The errant phone call was not enough - he felt stretched around the edges when he went too long without his regularly scheduled dose of Natasha.

Clint took the subway to their designated meeting point, a little coffee shop around the corner from the HYDRA front. He had briefly entertained hailing a taxi, but then he's always liked the relative anonymity of the crowd, the way that you can blend into the background, but still be in the midst of hundreds of other people. It reminded him of his days in the circus, the good days anyway, when he was flying through the air and the crowds gasped in awe below.

Of course, sometimes that meant that he had to stop underage pickpockets from making off with his wallet, but hey, at least he's actually in the middle of things for once. Maybe he's not entirely pleased with the way that he had to chase the miscreant up the escalator before he caught him, but at least he got his wallet (and more importantly, cover identity) back.

Normally, he could shake such things off. He was randomly targeted, after all, he knew that, singled out because of the cut of his suit and the obvious expense of his briefcase. It wasn't an attack on _him_, not really. Coupled with the anxiety and anticipation for both the mission and Natasha, though, he was feeling rather tense.

So by the time he's made his way to the shop, and he saw Natasha getting out of a taxi, he was already on edge.

He'd always had a healthy appreciation for her body; anybody would. It's not just the physicality, though that certainly doesn't hurt; Natasha was also the only person in the world that could make him laugh (really laugh, the kind of laugh that made you feel like you had to pee and throw up all at the same time), and she was the only person that he could bear telling his secrets to.

He wasn't sure if he'd expected anything different, but Natasha was dressed to the nines today, the very epitome of the corporate office worker, and he could already tell that he was going to have some trouble keeping his focus on this mission. There's something about Natasha Romanov in high heels and a suit that really gets him going.

"Good to see you, Ms. Rushman."

He met her eyes as he greeted her in character, shaking her hand, when all he really wanted to do was drag her into the nearest bathroom, lock the door, and fuck her against the mirror.

"Mr. Masters."

She returned his handshake firmly, holding on a little tighter and a little longer than strictly necessary, smiling with a little nod and a glint in her eye that suggested she wouldn't mind going along with his train of thought. She knew about this particular kink of his, has played along with it on more than one occasion, and he'd be willing to bet that she spent a significant amount of time selecting today's outfit with all of this in mind.

Her collared shirt is not the kind that buttons all the way up to her throat, but instead leaves a tantalizing patch of bare skin exposed at her throat. In fact, if he leaned forward just so, he could just about make out the curve of her breast . . .

"Did you already order?"

Natasha raised an eyebrow and turned away from him, and he was sure that he wasn't imagining the way she swung her hips ever so slightly, the motion exacerbated by the way her pencil skirt hugged the curve of her ass.

"No, I just got here myself."

He let Natasha order his coffee for him; he's not choosy as long as it has caffeine, and he trusts her to order him something palatable.

He took out a folder and went over the contents with his partner while they waited, and if he placed his hand next to hers on the table just so he could feel the proximity of her skin, well, she didn't move away either.

"Natalie?" The barista's voice interrupted their conversation, and Natasha walked to the bar to pick up her order.

"Your boyfriend's will be ready in a second." The barista's words should have been meaningless, but it was a sobering reminder to both of them that they'd need to tone it down a notch if they were going to be successful today. They were supposed to be business partners, not romantic ones, and if an overworked and distracted barista noticed them playing footsie, then their marks were sure to as well.

Clint made sure to keep at least an arm's length between them while they walked to the office building, fixing his eyes straight forward. He caught the traces of her smirk when he held the glass door to the building open for her and then raised his eyes skyward in exasperation as she brushed against him on her way inside.

He was doing his very best not to stare at her, but it was a very long walk, followed by a ride in a very small elevator, and topped off with a simply interminable wait in a lounge, all of it in the company of an extremely distracting woman who enjoyed pushing his buttons. By the time they were finally led into the board room, Clint had to hold his briefcase strategically just to make sure no one noticed that he was half-hard already.

Natasha, of course, had noticed his problem, and although she was making sure to place herself in the direct line of sight of anyone who might see his erection, she wasn't doing anything to help dissipate it. Instead, once they took their seats, she carefully bit the end of a pen, then crossed her legs under the table and nudged the tip of her heel against his calf. She smiled innocently at him when he raised an eyebrow at her.

Minx.

Clint failed miserably in keeping his mind off of his partner, or, more accurately, his partner's assets. More than once she had to dig the sharp toe of her heel into his muscle to bring him back into the conversation when he zoned out, and he hoped like hell that Fury wouldn't get wind of how distracted he's been on this job.

It's not entirely his fault though - the meeting itself was really boring, even if it was necessary and ultimately worthwhile. By the end of it, at least, Clint and Natasha both were certain that the people working in this particular firm have no idea that they're really employed by an international terrorist organization, and it should be easy enough to shut down the illegal side of their operations. All in all, a good day.

But damn it all to hell if there wasn't a bead of sweat working its way slowly down Natasha's throat for the past half an hour and now it was sliding even lower, disappearing underneath the collar of her shirt, and there wasn't anything he would like more right now than to lick the sweat right off of her.

By the time the executives wrapped up their presentation, Clint was starting to feel a bit claustrophobic. He'd already loosened his tie, letting out at least an inch of slack, but it still felt like he couldn't breathe. Natasha was still playing along, at least, and as soon as they stepped into the elevator, she made sure to invade his personal space, and stared directly into his eyes while she undid the top button of her shirt.

Then she licked her lips.

When the elevator stopped for more passengers at the next floor, Clint sprung into action, grabbed her hand, and pulled Natasha out of the tiny box behind him, nearly bowling over the pair of businessmen waiting to get on.

He had every intention of putting off this part of their reunion until later. Usually, he was more patient than this. Waiting was in his job description after all, and he was the best at what he did.

But the skirt she was wearing was just tight enough that he could tell she wasn't wearing panties, and her hair was tied up so it showed off the curve of her neck and dammit, he hasn't had sex in a month, and he's really fucking missed _her_.

The first three rooms they came to in the hall were clearly occupied, so they kept going further down the corridor until they finally came to a small, forgotten office nestled in a relatively secluded part of the hall.

Natasha had already pulled a set of lock picks out of who-knows-where, and the door popped open within seconds. With a glance down the hall, he dragged her into the room and drew the blinds while she relocked the door.

There was no hesitation as they halfway, and their lips crashed together, and it has just been too long since he's been with her, tasted her, and the way she was clinging to him told him all he needed to know about how she was feeling right now.

He shoved her back against the door, and then he made good on the earlier promise to himself to lick the sweat from between her breasts, tearing open her shirt with more force than strictly necessary. Idly, he heard the ping of a button as it hit the ground, and he really hoped that this shirt wasn't from Natasha's personal wardrobe because he'd catch hell for that later.

While he was occupied with her cleavage, Natasha had managed to snake her hands down between them, fussing with the fastenings on his pants.

Clint's eyes rolled back in his head a little and he reminded himself to keep quiet when she finally grabbed hold of him and pumped, swirling her fingers around his sensitive tip. He bucked involuntarily into her hands, burying her face in the crook of her neck and moaning her name. He had to stop for a second, forced himself to think of puppies, unicorns, and Nick Fury's eyepatch just so he didn't come all over her hands and end this before it even started.

Natasha could never resist walking close to the edge, so she just wrapped one leg around his, then ground herself against his thigh.

Clint took this as his cue to distract her, and with his hands pressed to the door on either side of her face, he started nipping at the flesh under her ear, then trailed his lips down to the hollow of her throat. She groaned when he suckled her skin there, and he was pretty sure that he left a mark, but it hardly mattered at this point.

Quickly, though Clint ran out of his patience for foreplay, and he just wanted to be moving inside of her already, so he turned her around in his arms and walked her over to the desk in the middle of the tiny office. Natasha knew him well enough that he didn't have to say anything, she just leaned down onto her forearms and spread her legs a little wider while Clint pressed himself against her, trying to relieve some of the pressure.

He hiked her skirt up around her waist, exposing her to the air. As expected, she was bare, and he drew one hand over the curve of her firm ass before moving lower and sliding one finger along her slit.

She was wetter than he imagined, so he wasted no time and positioned himself at her entrance. He thrust in all at once, right down to the hilt, and he felt her shudder around him.

Natasha moaned loudly, and he sent a brief prayer skyward that there weren't people in the offices next to this one because there's about a zero percent chance that you couldn't hear her through the walls in this place. But even if they did hear her, he figured they had at least three minutes before security shows up, and seriously what could some rent-a-cops do to the likes of them anyway?

They started up a rhythm, with Natasha pushing back against him as he thrusts into her, and he was suddenly struck with how much he missed being with her like this.

He hoped that he could last until she came, but the view from where he was standing was pretty fucking spectacular and he wasn't sure he could stop his movements even if they were interrupted.

He moved his hands from where they were grasping the bend of her hips and he runs them up along her sides, loving the feel of the crisp fabric against his palms. He went a step further then, and reached around to squeeze her breasts through the fabric of her bra. Her nipples were standing at attention through the cloth, and he could tell that she was close now by the familiar keening sound she's started to make in the back of her throat as she writhed against him.

Slowing his thrusting for the moment, Clint skimmed his hands once more over the front of her bra, teasing her. Natasha growled and bucked against him in response and he couldn't stop himself from biting his lip and giving her a little smack on the ass.

He could feel the first tremors start to flutter through her then and he knew that he was going to be right on her heels but he wanted to see her face when she came, so he pulled out in order to get Natasha onto her back.

He turned her around in his arms, stopping along the way to kiss her before picking her up just enough to set her on the desk. She leaned back of her own accord, propping herself up on her elbows and spreading her legs for him. He wanted to stop and take the sight in, wanted to etch permanently onto his brain the image of his lover with her skirt bunched around her waist and waiting for him, but they were both more than a little impatient now.

Clint grabbed the base of his penis with one hand and guided himself back into her, a bit more slowly this time, keeping eye contact as he went. The intimacy that could have been overwhelming just made him hotter for her, and he reached down to clasp one of her hands in his.

Then, she twisted those killer legs of hers around his waist and she started using the leverage to thrust against him, and it felt like they'd merged into one person. He loved seeing her like this, completely open beneath him, looking up at him like there's nothing else in the world that matters, but still completely in control.

He bent down low over her body, sucked the peak of one breast into his mouth, and then she was coming, clawing at his shoulders and contracting around him tightly, all the while trying in vain to keep her exclamation of pleasure silent. Roughly and entirely without grace, he pumped into her twice, three more times, and then he was choking back a shout, too.

Clint rested there on top of her for a minute, not quite ready for his brain to re-engage, and Natasha idly played with the hairs on his nape.

"You need a haircut," she said without emotion, and he chuckled. He turned his head into her neck, nuzzled where he felt her pulse still racing.

"We should get moving," he replied.

"Mmhmm."

Neither one of the could muster the strength to move for several more minutes, and when they did it was only because they could hear several heavy booted footsteps coming down the hall.

Quickly, Clint slid out of her, sharing a half-disappointed grimace as he did so. He only had to zip himself up and run a hand through his hair in order to clean up, but Natasha was a wreck with her clothes in shambles, her lipstick smeared across her face, and her hair falling out of its bun.

He'd never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

There was nothing at hand for her to clean up with, so Clint slipped his tie off over his head and handed it ruefully to Natasha, who shrugged before using it to wipe the greater part of their collective fluids from between her legs. She tucked the soiled article into her attaché case, finished buttoning her blouse as best she could, and then they were ready.

He reached for the door, but then hesitated. They'd be in debrief for hours when they got back, and SHIELD had a car waiting for them outside. For all they knew, the approaching footsteps were the SHIELD agents themselves.

So instead of flicking open the door lock, he turned around, dragged Natasha fully against him and kissed the breath out of her.

"I missed you," he whispered against her lips, then made sure to meet her gaze so she could see the truth there.

"Ditto, hot sauce." She grinned at him and tweaked him on the cheek. "Let's get out of here before that suit of yours distracts me again."

He restrained himself from pumping a fist at her words. He _knew_ he wasn't the only one of them who appreciated a nice suit.

Feeling pretty good about himself, Clint opened the door to two very surprised security guards, interrupting one of them just as he was going to knock. It was very clear from both their postures that they knew what he and Natasha had been up to until moment ago.

Unrepentant, Clint flashed them his biggest, shit-eating grin.

"The desk seems to be in perfect working condition, as expected," Clint said as he walked by the perplexed officers and out the door.

"You'll let your boss know, I trust?" Natasha asked as she breezed out on the heels of her partner.

They managed to hold their laughter until the elevator closed behind them.

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_There you have it! Hope you enjoyed!_


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